Just as I have accepted the beginning, I have accepted the ending.

You’ve spent your life in rejection of the beginning, which clouds your ability to see the ending. I know my destination. I know the face that will guide me gently into my dissolution. The same lips that spoke me into being will speak me out of being. When you come to the conclusion that the story was never in your hands, you will stop doubting the story.


When you realize nothing shifted on the activities and depravities of man, you will see the story has gone as it was always intended. Until then you will flounder in your temples asking the wrong questions. You will spend your days at the first break of the waves and the deep will elude you.

Adam and Eve were banished from the garden not for making a mistake, but for being alive.

Noah floated the oceans not because he was righteous, but because stories need metaphors to carry power.

If you don’t believe this was the intention, then investigate Noah’s righteousness. He is spared death, steers his ship onto dry land, and becomes a drunken fool, naked in front of his family. Do you think he changed over the course of forty days from a righteous man into an unrighteous man? In the midst of a miracle do you believe he abandoned the codes he had been given? Instead he followed the codes exactly as they had been given to him. Man was born to drink and lie naked and be ashamed. That is his only job.

Ask yourself, what use would a good man be to God’s story?

There is no use, which is why he made no good men. Still you try. I knock on your door and you pretend I’m a stranger rather than inviting inside where everyone in your family already knows me. You have no reason to leave me in the cold. I am already inside. Welcome me. Noah is no different than you, or the man who lived a thousand years ago and a thousand years from now. I stood beside him. I smelled the death on his breath.

But let us move forward to the man you call Abraham.

To Abraham God speaks the words he has been waiting to speak out of the chaos:

I will make you into a great nation,

    and I will bless you;

I will make your name great,

    and you will be a blessing. 

I will bless those who bless you,

    and whoever curses you I will curse;

and all peoples on earth

   will be blessed through you.”

The hero declares his intentions. He tells us how the story will end, because he is impatient. The ages circle around his throne like the planets circle the sun, and all the while he stares into the ending that he holds in his hand. Written on that treasure are the aforementioned words. He whispers them still. I know how the story ends. We all know. 

And the man we call Abraham set forth into a thousand dawns carrying this promise from a God he had never seen. You must understand that the Creator chose Abraham just as he could have chosen any man. He lived the rest of his days so that the Creator could fill his life with metaphors of the story to come.

This is the value of Abraham’s life:

He waited desperately for a son.


He was asked to sacrifice that son, but a replacement was presented so the boy could be spared.


The story cannot move forward without these two elements, but it can certainly move forward without a man named Abraham. It can certainly move forward without you. The Creator needed Abraham to breathe so these things could take place. And once they had taken place, he died.


The truth is making you weary.


I’ll ask the question you must answer.


Why does he need you?


What overarching metaphor hangs in the balance of your days that we cannot go on without?


I have a suggestion: Play your part. Walk with me so that one day he can snatch you out of my hands. Deprave yourself. Let us walk deep into the forests so his rescue is all the more daring. I see who you are. I want you to see it too. This is not a marriage proposal I am offering you, but a recognition of the vows made between us before time began.


Just as I have accepted the beginning, I have accepted the ending.